


Staying In

by KingpinCobblepot (Theonlylucysaxon)



Series: Comfort and Confirmation [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Bit of Dissociativeness, Depression, Edward is in a rough place, M/M, Oswald is loving and takes care of him, be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 10:06:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16195337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theonlylucysaxon/pseuds/KingpinCobblepot
Summary: Edward doesn't want to go out, but it's not that simple. Nothing is. A simple one shot in which I consider the frustrations of having depression, helplessness of loving someone with depression, and being supportive even when you can't do more than be present.





	Staying In

**Author's Note:**

> This might suck. Be warned. I'm tired and wrote this in like half an hour for someone I care about to help them maybe and also to help anyone else who struggles and feels like a burden.

“I don’t want to go out.” 

The words are simple. But somehow… Somehow they mean everything. Oswald can read between them. He can see into the eyes of the man he loves. The man he knows. It’s been a bad day. Objectively nothing especially bad happened. He stayed here at the mansion. He worked. They had breakfast and lunch together. But then nothing bad has to happen for Ed to have a bad day. It is one of the unfairest parts of his condition. Of his life. Badness creeps up from corners in the middle of perfectly fine sunny afternoons, it drips from the ceiling and encircles him and there is no reason. There is no logic. It just is. And it isn’t fair. 

Oswald hates it for Ed. He hates that Ed hurts in that worst of ways, in that emptiness way. He hates that he’ll never say it because Ed fears Oswald will resent him. He hates that Edward has lived a life in which his feelings offer themselves up to the scrutiny and validation of another person. That he believes if someone else can’t relate, can’t understand, can’t justify his feelings then he doesn’t deserve to have them. The kingpin imagines tracking down every last one of them who brought Ed to this point… To this kind of self loathing of his own illness… He imagines splitting a part each and every joint of their body and slicing the tendons of their muscles apart. Seeing them in pain. Immobile. Unable to do anything but writhe in their own blood. 

It would serve them right. 

But of course for now he has more pressing matters. 

“We don’t have to go out.” He says simply with a smile that mirrors Eds and is as sincere as his isn’t. It’s hard to smile at Ed when he knows how he feels, but he does so because he knows it’s even harder for Ed to smile first. The least he can do is return the effort. “We can stay in. Maybe you could read to me while we lay together?” He offers softly and reaches out a gentle hand. He always rests a touch just above Ed’s skin, featherlight brushing against him and cupping his cheek. He doesn’t touch him firmly. He never presses. He waits for Edward to make the move. For Edward to decide when he’s ready for the touch to be more of if he even wants it at all. Today he turns his head down and Oswald understands, gently pushing it up to just barely touch Ed’s hair and then resting his hand back to his side. 

“I’m sorry, Os--”

Oswald interrupts him by speaking first. “No, you aren’t. You aren’t allowed to be sorry for feeling things, Edward Nygma. I won’t allow it.” He smirks a little. 

A phantom smile brushes Ed’s lips but doesn’t reach his still downcast eyes. He doesn’t want to hurt Oswald, but he doesn’t find it funny. He doesn’t find anything funny. It’s all just there. Life is around him and it’s all real but he can’t tell. He can’t tell if the feelings that brush the surface of his face-- the expressions he forces for the sake of everyone around him. Is that the reality? Is that what things should be? Because the warm hollowness in his chest can be so inviting. He feels fear creep in somewhere in the back. Oswald will leave one day because of this. Oswald will leave because he is sick and Oswald is well. He is broken and Oswald is whole. He is damaged and Oswald is… perfect. His eyes meet Oswald’s. Just barely, wondering about what to do. He knows he should just keep pretending. Pretending to feel is easier. Offering happiness and optimism makes people like you. He wants Oswald to still like him. He wants Oswald to still love him. “I’m just tired.” He whispers.

And that isn’t a lie. He is tired. Tired of pretending. It’s so exhausting and he’s home. Oswald is his home and he doesn’t want to have to pretend. Some part of him fears the day that there’s nothing. Not even the anxiety, panic, fear, insanity. What happens when the hollowness is all that’s left and it surrounds him. Takes him in. Holds him to a point that nothing exists but it and he loses it all. 

What happens when it takes over and he loses Oswald?

“Come lay down with me?” The penguin interrupts his thoughts. 

Ed nods. Laying down might be nice. He doesn’t want to cuddle, but if Oswald asks, he will. He owes him that much, right? He already ruined the lovely dinner plans he had made. The least he could do is cuddle him. His body is rigid as he follows Oswald upstairs and mechanically undresses and redresses for bed. Laying down first, he feels the bed shift under Oswald’s weight. Having been so prepared for hands that usually pull him close, he is almost surprised by Oswald laying down flat on his back now side by side with Ed. 

Of course, Oswald knows. He knows if he asks, if he tries it-- Ed will let him. But he knows how Ed turned away from his touch earlier, and as played off as he tried to make it feel, he also knows that to touch him more wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be what Ed wants. And right now, Ed deserves what he wants. So he lays by his side, body still and unmoving, and soon he fills the cool, silent evening air between them with words. Stories. He talks about crimes he’s committed, people he’s killed. He details it all to the letter, but at the same time, he knows Ed likely isn’t listening. He knows the sound of his voice is all the company he can offer and his stories all the distraction he can give. 

He’s right, too. It’s all Ed could ask of him, and all Ed could want in this moment. He rolls over on his side soon and closes his eyes. He lets himself sit in the emptiness, but carries into the darkness of his soul the sound of Oswald’s voice. And for now-- for now it’s enough. In fact, it’s everything. It draws Ed to earth. It grounds him. It keeps his demons at bay and for now at least it offers a solace from the world without forcing him to try and break away from a sensation he knows far too well and experiences far too often. Therapy might help. Medication. They’ve talked about it. But Oswald is good. He knows. This is in Ed’s time. It’s his choice. And so for now, this is what they do. 

It is while Oswald is in the midst of detailing the sensation he felt when watching Grace’s face as she bit into the ribs of her daughter-- glee drenching his voice as he recalls the memories, Edward reaches out a single hand and clasps it over Oswald’s hand where it rests at his side. His eyes are closed and he remains silent, but Oswald doesn’t bother to look at him all the same. He barely deviates a single syllable in his story either. But they both know. Ed is thanking him. Not just for this but for everything, and in his effortless continuation of his story with a single squeeze in return of Ed’s hand in his, Oswald is expressing to him how very much no thanks is needed.


End file.
